


Boy, It's More Than I Dare To Think About

by Edwardina



Category: Glee
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Exhibitionism, Locker Room, M/M, Masturbation, PWP, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-06
Updated: 2012-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-26 00:06:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/644398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edwardina/pseuds/Edwardina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam has no problem with showing off his body, so Kurt looks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boy, It's More Than I Dare To Think About

**Author's Note:**

> 310 coda. Written for [kink_bingo](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) for the "exhibitionism" square. This is pure voyeurism/exhibitionism, but if you're sensitive about Kurt having a boyfriend, don't read it!
> 
> Thanks to Kate for reading over it for me (twice!) and being reassuring, and to Ilse for letting me fret.

"You know, even though we're obviously not all trained swimmers, I really think this is an amazing idea," Blaine was saying.

It was six fifty-five in the morning, still dark outside, and the glee club and synchronized swimming team had been in the water for an hour and a half with Coach Roz and Mr. Schue both yelling at them, and Kurt's skin was too sensitive for this kind of beating. He needed a mirror, stat, but everything was fogged up. Half of the guys were still showering, and steam was rolling from the showers across the floor, fully visible despite the fact that the pool and building were both ostensibly heated. It was still January. A chill clung at Kurt's uncomfortably bare limbs. The floor was slick with pool water and shower water, and everything smelled like chlorine and some kind of other gross smell he didn't want to think about at all. He was trying not to rub his face until he'd gotten some clean water splashed onto it and could break out his skincare bag.

"I really think Ms. Pillsbury is gonna love it," Blaine said, as they stood there and dripped, towels around their necks. He was gripping at his and beaming for no reason Kurt could see, and Kurt was a hopeless romantic.

"You barely know Ms. Pillsbury," he pointed out.

Blaine just smiled at him, rolling his dark eyes patiently. "Who wouldn't love such an epic proposal?"

"Someone with O.C.D. who might cry and run off if we accidentally splash her with dirty pool water."

"You're just grumpy because you don't like people to see you without your hair done," said Blaine.

"If I have a bad hair day because of this, so help me," Kurt said.

Blaine didn't get a chance to respond; Puckerman, Mike Chang, and Sam had all barreled out of the shower in a group, horsing around, all merely with towels around their waists. Blaine and Kurt both silently watched as Puck and Sam scooped up Mike, making him yell, "Guys, no!"

"Graceful! Graceful! GRACEFUL!" Sam and Puck chanted in tandem, and Mike obliged by striking quite a magnificent pose, arms looped over his head like a ballerina. Mike was the only guy Coach Roz hadn't yelled at for lack of grace – well, besides Kurt and Blaine, but they had both been yelled at for different reasons, like being short and trying to wear non-regulation nose clips of their own design – so now he was taking some good-natured razzing for it.

Puckerman said, "Oh, that's the stuff dreams are made of. Son, you could go all the way to the Olympics."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm awesome and the teacher's pet and none of you can compare. Now let me down," said Mike, dropping his arms and messing up both Puck's flopped-over mohawk and Sam's wet mop. They didn't seem to mind.

"You're gonna have to teach me that," is what Sam said, lifting one hand. Kurt noticed that instead of patting his hair back down to its tidy side-swipe, he just ruffled it up even more into a wet but relentlessly blond nest. "I still don't have it down and I actually need to learn it for competition."

"I can't believe you joined this team, dude," laughed Mike.

"Yeah, what the hell?" said Puck. "I've said it before but now that I've experienced it first-hand, I'll say it again. This is way too much like that period commercial."

Kurt and Blaine simply stood there blending in with the red lockers, gaze flickering towards each other for a heartbeat then turning back to the guys who were ignoring them, or letting them be, or whatever.

Kurt had seen Blaine jump in with them gamely before – _I'm just one of the guys!!_ – but usually Kurt sequestered himself in the locker room and covered up as much as he could. It was basic locker room etiquette to not eye other guys up, especially when they were half-naked, and he knew he didn't want his too-pale, too-red translucent skin to be eyed up either. It was a rare day indeed when he felt like his knees were okay-looking enough to take a fashion risk with a pair of shorts.

Still, with Kurt there, Blaine was sticking to him, so right then Blaine was on his side, instead... on the outside looking in rather than in the middle of it all, palling around and being all straight-passing... and Kurt could feel he was quietly riding the same undercurrent of interest that usually the both of them capped off around the glee guys by default. It took only that mere split-second of eye contact for Kurt to know Blaine was watching them the same way he was.

"What period commercial?" asked Mike, sounding horrified.

"I dunno, some commercial for chicks about periods and stuff," Puck replied with careless amusement.

Mike glanced at Sam to see if he knew what Puck was talking about, but Sam just shook his head cluelessly.

Attempting to be subtle and look uninterested, Kurt eyed them all.

Mike was slender, all sinew, bendy; Kurt thought he had his own quiet appeal, but he did blend in until you saw him doing some crazy dance move or being the White Swan of the group.

Puck was unnervingly muscular. His body was like a grown man's. If that was what Developmental First Grade did to a guy, then Puck had probably gone through at least three times. Only the constant inane video game references were a forceful reminder that Puck wasn't that much older than Kurt.

For Kurt, Sam was almost difficult to look at. Almost. Kurt still looked, because Sam was painfully cute. He was cute enough in glee club, slouched in one of the chairs with his knees slung wide and only paying half-attention to Mr. Schuester, his eyes hooded and wandering. He was cute enough in his dreadful new wardrobe of army surplus pants and plain sweatshirts, holding his books upside-down under one arm in the hallway.

But dripping wet, oh God, he made Kurt ache.

It wasn't like Kurt had never seen him dripping with water before. The last time he had, he'd pretty much memorized the sight of that perfect body. But somehow Sam had only improved since then (maybe it was the haircut), and so had Kurt's sexual imagination. Taking in the slope of Sam's bare shoulder blades and the drip of water off his nose again, Kurt's heart leapt unbearably into his throat.

It didn't help that Sam was staying at his house all of a sudden. It was karmic punishment, that's what it was, for the times Kurt had been selfish. Kurt had been in love with Finn, and Finn had become his step-brother, put in close quarters to him but made even more off-limits than he'd been anyway by their parents actually marrying. Kurt had tried to do a duet with Sam, and now he was under the same roof as him, too, and regularly witnessed Sam with damp shower hair, in pajama pants, practicing body-rolls he'd perfected from all the times he'd _stripped for money_. It wasn't enough for the universe for Sam to come back to McKinley just when Kurt had finally gotten somewhere real and physical with Blaine. He had to have that physique people had actually paid money to see, too.

Kurt tried to avoid Sam at home as much as possible, but they still ate dinner at the same table at least every other day, and now he was having to do this whole synchronized swimming number with him and his swim team. The universe was just pushing Sam at him, dangling him. It was pure punishment. Punishment so severe it walked the line to actually being a reward, but, actually, no, it was just punishment. Right then, watching Sam run his hand through his own messy wet hair... it was nothing, really, not anything anyone else would ever notice or be affected by, but it felt like getting shoved up against the lockers, the way it made Kurt's body and brain ring. 

He desperately took in Sam's winter-pale skin, the goosebumps that had lifted on his shoulders alongside droplets of water, the way the sides of his hair were both razed so short compared to how he'd worn it last year. He took an intentionally slow exhale as he focused on the light and unobtrusive patch of hair under Sam's arm that was damp, too, just peeking out at him. With the swim tank on, in the pool, fist pumping joyfully along with everyone else's, Sam's arm pit was just one of the many on display, but here in the locker room with Sam totally naked under his towel, that light thatch of hair and attractive curve of musculature that Kurt could trace with his eyes seemed like a private thing to be catching a glimpse of. Kurt's face flushed as much seeing it as it did seeing Sam's bare chest.

But – Blaine. Blaine was right there. In a way, it comforted Kurt to know he wasn't alone, yet it made guilt nag at him a bit, too. There was no way he was ever going to fill Blaine in on his failed attempt to sing a duet with Sam, especially after Sam and Blaine had almost come to blows, and especially since Sam was always around Kurt's house now.

"Just be glad you don't have to wear the Speedos or swim caps," Sam was telling the guys, turning to his locker and spinning the dial on his lock.

Kurt swallowed against the tight pull in his own throat, yanking his eyes from Sam's ass, tiny under his red towel. Instead he glanced at Rory as he came dawdling out of the shower on his skinny colt legs, trying to keep an apparently uncooperative towel around his waist and frowning at it. Then he took a second to simply squeeze his slightly dry eyes shut while pool water dripped off his limp bangs.

"We shouldn't stare, should we," Blaine said under his breath.

He was smiling, though, and Kurt eyed him, taking a second to flush further at how fun it was to stare at boys... with his own boyfriend. He didn't feel an ounce of jealousy. Not with these guys, who were none the wiser. Sure, if Sebastian Smythe came sliding into the room on his own slime, then they could talk jealousy, but he just felt more understood than anything else. Blaine didn't need to know that Kurt had carried a brief (really brief!) torch for Sam and that it had silently, helplessly reignited the moment Sam had swept back in to help save sectionals, grinning and grinding. Maybe it was just that Kurt's brain had been plagued by everything Finn had described to him about where Sam had been working in addition to the pelvic thrusts he'd witnessed, but. By the time Kurt had bumped, half-asleep and in his robe, into Sam just outside the bathroom door in his own house, it had spread like every thought Kurt had ever had about him was dry kindling just waiting to burn.

Kurt smiled back at Blaine. No. No, he didn't go for straight boys anymore. He was just looking, intrigued by them, wondering who his boyfriend thought was the cutest.

"Evans!"

Coach Roz's voice boomed at the locker room doorway; Kurt couldn't help but notice Rory jump and clutch at his towel.

"Let me see you out here!"

Sam left his locker open and jogged obediently, head bowed and towel clutched, back towards the door to the swimming pool, and with Sam gone, Kurt felt abruptly disinterested in standing around any further with wet, cold skin.

"I'm going to shower before my face just cracks and falls off," he told Blaine, and didn't smooch him on the cheek before he swept by – out of locker room respect, but also because Blaine was still kind of jumpy about being too affectionate at school. 

"I'll go when you're done," said Blaine, for the benefit of the room at large. The idea of two gay guys in the shower at once was most likely a no-go, they realized, even for the glee club. Even though the glee club and swim team put together didn't even begin to rival the rampant homophobia on the football team, Kurt and Blaine were still kind of an oddity.

He took his shampoo, conditioner, body wash, loofah, and clean dry towel with him in an armful. The loofah alone, although spirited and red, was too gay for the McKinley locker room.

Luckily, only one of the guys on the swim team was still in the showers. Finn was coming out with a towel on. He looked beat but happy, as Finn tended to after manning up to do things that seemed all-around objectionable, and he clapped Kurt on the shoulder as they passed each other by.

"Don't forget to moisturize," Kurt called to him.

"I know, man!" said Finn, darting a semi-nervous look at the guy from the swim team, who was watching him pass with brows lifted.

Kurt took a fussy few beats to pick the best shower – it seemed like the farthest one was the most private, but he'd also read about the middle stalls in any public bathroom being the cleanest because they were the least used, and figured it had to go for shower stalls, too – and finally set his bottles in an acceptable place.

Oh, God, either way, this place was still gross. He was glad he'd gotten all this stuff just for the locker room, but if he ever took it home again, the first thing he was going to do was disinfect it all. His towel... he really didn't know what to do with, since he wasn't into the idea of strolling around the shower area without one. He wound up folding it as small as possible and draping it over his shower head, hopefully out of the way of the water.

Ignoring the swim team guy, who seemed to be taking his sweet time, he turned the knob and stripped down to his swim trunks before stepping into the warm water, which was heating slowly, but still warmer than the slight bite of winter in the air. He let them flush wet again with warm water there under the flow, then he pushed them down his thighs and stood, naked and chilled and shakier than he would have preferred, rinsing them out so they wouldn't just smell like chlorine in his locker all day.

Frankly, even though Kurt had made himself suit up for P.E. classes all during middle school and even shower with – or, you know, shower slightly after – the football team sophomore year, it just felt weird to be in various states of undress around guys, and that never changed. It was that way when he and Finn had disastrously shared living quarters and it was still awe-inducing to see his own boyfriend with his zip undone, let alone in a wet swimsuit. Going naked in front of guys wasn't normal for him like it was for the others. The locker room was just charged with a dangerous energy. Maybe for him, the girls' locker room would be more like the towel-snapping place where you horsed around with those of your kind (the ladies' equivalent of that, Kurt thought, would be gossiping, asking if your outfit made you look fat, and socially acceptable amounts of primping). Maybe none of the other guys felt it the way he did, not even Blaine. But for Kurt, being in the shower was like being in a brothel or something. Everything was inappropriate. The air was electric with sex; everything stank like boys and seemed to taunt him in some way, and it all made his skin prickle with mixed fear and arousal even as he wrung out his swim trunks.

At least the showers were empty. Even the swim team guy walked off towards his locker after a minute, leaving Kurt free to wash his hair entirely by himself. He lathered, rinsed, and was into a repeat when Sam popped up.

"Hey," Sam said, and Kurt blinked at him, lashes dripping, soap threatening to slide down his forehead.

Sam was newly wet, hair plastered down again, cheeks highly red. He was panting deeply. And he was taking his swim trunks off.

Kurt looked away so fast he might've actually given himself whiplash.

 _Naked._ Naked guy, three o'clock.

He stood there, frozen, as Sam went right for the shower head next to Kurt and twisted it on, sniffling and letting out a sigh. The flow of Kurt's water diminished slightly as the pipes above them carried water to Sam's shower head as well as his. Sam hooked his navy blue trunks over the knob, and there they dripped.

Kurt stared off into the yellow tile in front of him like it was deep and fascinating. Soap crawled from his hair down his forearms and slid off his elbows as he stood there, unmoving.

What was _wrong_ with Sam? Weren't there at least five other shower heads that weren't _right next to his_? Wasn't taking one politely distant from Kurt's the socially acceptable thing to do? People did that in movie theaters all the time! And at baseball games! And in freaking glee club! They left empty chairs and spread themselves out like they weren't even all friends sometimes.

Kurt's temples throbbed; in about five seconds, his blood pressure had skyrocketed and his heart had taken up jack-hammering against his ribs.

Showering with a guy he was living with was actually on his bucket list, but this was not what he'd had in mind at all.

He stared himself cross-eyed trying to keep his eyes trained forward, but he could still see Sam's reflection in the shiny metal pipes and even the knob. He could see all of Sam. Some of the exact details blurred in the bending of the shiny metal. That split-second flash he'd gotten of Sam with his swim trunks around his knees, down around his ankles, the length of him naked, just _naked_ , filled in the blurs cruelly.

"I could've sworn you already showered," Kurt finally said in a strange falsetto.

"I did," said Sam, splashing water up his own arms briskly. "Then Coach called me back in. She saw something on the bottom of the pool and asked me to dive for it, so I had to get my suit back on. I guess it was a girl's bracelet or something, it was gold, so... someone in glee must've worn it into the pool and lost it. But now I gotta do all this all over again."

"Yes, I suppose you better," said Kurt tightly.

He scrubbed at the silken bubbles in his own hair in an attempt to act normal, suddenly aware that the raspberry scent of his Clarifying Rusk was thick around him, lending a distinctly feminine smell into the air. He could barely even fathom the reality of how close they were standing and just how butt-naked they both were. Yeah, he'd walked right in on Sam showering before, but now he, Kurt, was naked and abruptly way more aware of how totally vulnerable it felt. If Sam wanted, he could simply glance over and see everything Kurt had going on – the cold and chlorine-chapped redness of his lips and cheeks, the purposeful trim of his pubes, his... uh, everything.

But Sam was minding his own business, it seemed. He had been on the football team, and was on the synchronized swimming team now; he was probably an expert at putting on locker room blinders. Even though he was trying like hell to pick a spot on the wall and not let his eyes move from it, somehow Kurt could still see everything; even though his eyes didn't move towards Sam, he saw how Sam had some no-name bottle of shampoo that was probably horrible for his hair and was just merrily scrubbing it right in.

Then:

"Hey, you looked good out there," said Sam, looking right at him. Kurt looked back reflexively, eyes connecting with Sam's for a moment. He had a distinct memory of Sam saying that guys didn't talk in the showers, but maybe that had just been because Kurt had been fully clothed, and now they were even.

"Really," Kurt managed, gaze lifting to the froth of shampoo in Sam's hair and the way his fingers were tangled in it. Sam swept both his hands up, pressing them together and giving himself a momentary mohawk glued up with soap.

"Yeah, you're just what the coach likes. Like, graceful."

His awkward faux-hawk slumped like a Kewpie doll curl, and Sam smiled at him, mouth wet and gawpy and just too much for one person. When he looked away again, it let Kurt do the same.

"I don't really swim," Kurt said.

"But you're good at it," said Sam, sounding surprised.

"I used to swim at the Y with my dad when I was little. I mean, I like to swim, I just don't do it anymore."

"But you could do this, like – better than me. Just about anyone's better than me, but I'm giving it my all anyway. And you're still looking for stuff to put on your college applications, aren't you?" Sam asked, suddenly keen-sounding. "You should join. You get a letter for it."

"As much as I enjoy the mix of artistry and unadulterated cheese of this sport, I think it's too late for this kind of stuff to matter to colleges," said Kurt, tipping forward to push the bubbles out of his hair self-consciously. With his eyes closed and water rushing down his face, he wondered if Sam was looking at him, and a spike of mixed feelings jabbed him in the belly. He didn't want to be on display, exactly, unless... unless he looked good, and Sam liked what he saw, and that was a stupid, stupid thought. "Plus," he spoke up, eyes scrunched tightly shut, "just doing this number is wrecking my skin and hair. It takes delicate balance and dedication to maintain all this."

He made a blind circular wax-on kind of motion at his own face, and heard Sam huff in amusement.

"Go ahead and laugh," Kurt said, reaching for his conditioner and spurting some into his palm. "We can't all be natural Adonises. Also, if you're going to strip your hair with that crap, you should at least condition. Baby that hair, Sam. If you're not nice to it, it'll turn green."

He waved the bottle at Sam, who took it after a moment.

"You care a lot about my hair," he said, sounding vaguely wry.

Said Kurt austerely, stroking conditioner through his own in a practiced manner, "I care a lot about everyone's hair, not just yours. It hurts me to see mistreated hair."

"Okay, well. I definitely don't want to hurt you," Sam said. Kurt shot him a look and saw he was smiling and squeezing at the bottle of conditioner.

Kurt stilled without realizing it. He lost a chunk of time and self-awareness as he watched Sam curiously sniff the pink puddle in his hand and grin at the smell of it. He watched Sam put the bottle back with Kurt's stuff and swipe over his hair with his loaded palm, leaving a shine where he rubbed. His fingers scrunched in and his tendons bunched up and his muscles stood out plainly under his flushed skin, where goosebumps still raked here and there. His sideburns clearly wanted to curl. The hair on his arm was wetted down and pulled in the shape of the flow of water that had slid over it. Up closer, the hair in his arm pit was even more sparse and caramel-colored than Kurt had realized, especially compared to how dark Kurt's own hair was. Just looking at it made him unable to breathe. Somehow the hair on Sam's body was just perfect, like everything else on Sam's body. There wasn't too much and he was smooth in all the right places, but what there was made Kurt long to touch it.

He was caught when Sam looked at him suddenly, as if realizing all at once that Kurt was staring.

Sam's eyes were intent and wary and both hands were messily layered into his hair, but his mouth was hanging open around his breaths. Kurt had wound up with both hands locked behind his neck, fingers slippery with conditioner but intertwined in a desperate knot Kurt didn't remember urging them into. He blinked back, feeling his face go red to the point of it actually kind of hurting, his insides all suddenly in a wild panic but unable to do anything except throb and flip and thump inside him. Water trickled down Kurt's forehead, made his eyelids flutter, and bounced off his cheeks, but he couldn't seem to move or look away again.

For what seemed like a long minute, Sam just looked back at him, meeting his stare and then eyeing his expression and letting his gaze dip slightly, eyelashes flickering.

Somewhere in the locker room, Blaine and Finn laughed loudly, and their laughs rang back to the showers but didn't seem to penetrate the steam or the noisy pump of water or disturb Sam.

Finally Sam murmured, "Uh, are you looking at me?"

It was a question, somehow. It sounded confused, with no real anchored tone of accusation or knowing. How it could possibly be unclear, Kurt didn't know, but Sam wasn't the brightest bulb sometimes.

"Sorry," Kurt said. He tried to keep it light, like whatever, he got his peep on with hot boys all the time, but his voice shook slightly, weakened from the adrenaline.

Sam's mouth twisted up funny.

"'S okay," he said, moving his hands to rinse them off in the water pelting down at him and rubbing them together palm-to-palm. The movement was careful, casual. "I, uh..." Sam shook his head, eyes closing heavily, then he continued in a lippy mumble, clearly trying to keep quiet, "Is there something you like?"

Kurt just struggled to remain standing. He mimicked Sam without thought, feeling the sheen of conditioner roll off his fingers in the water.

Sam's gaze tilted back towards him, and Kurt darted a glance just long enough to see a weird smile tugging up one half of his mouth. He honestly had no idea how to even read it; was Sam amused? Was this all hilarious? Corralling himself, Kurt pinned him with a stare that felt heated and hard and defensive, and Sam just blinked wondrously, that pillowy red mouth in its crooked, absent-minded tug.

For another awkward moment, the both of them were silent, and Kurt's mind flitted through several distinct shades of mortification: he'd been caught; it felt vulnerable; it was angering for Sam to not just let it go; he felt guilty for everything from being gay to using skin-nourishing milk protein body wash in the presence of others. But his mind rubber-banded on him with a snap. It was hardly his fault Sam had invited himself to shower right next to him, stand inappropriately close and engage with him instead of ignore him as social locker room protocol dictated. It wasn't Kurt's choice to be around him, do this number with him, live with him. Kurt hadn't driven all the way out to Kentucky to retrieve him. This was all on Sam.

Sam stood there, and Kurt became aware that he was simply hanging still with his palms in that earnest press, not even rinsing his hair. Kurt darted him another pointed glare.

"Sorry," Sam said immediately. He ducked his hands under his armpits and clenched them there, shoulders in an uncomfortable hunch.

"I can't tell if you're just being a jerk about it or if you're seriously asking me that when my boyfriend is in the next room," Kurt responded coolly, grabbing at his loofah to busy himself with his body wash.

"I wasn't trying to be a jerk," Sam murmured. Then he stuck his head under the running water and scrubbed at his hair vigorously, his eyes shut and his mouth drawn tight.

"So you just think I'm perving on you 'cause I'm gay," said Kurt, cutting but aloof.

"No, I – it's not like that. I promise, I'm not – I never would think like that, I just thought – I shouldn't have asked you that, but I thought maybe I looked good or something, it doesn't have anything to do with... you being gay or... your boyfriend, or anything like that."

Sam's face was red to a degree that had nothing to do with the hot water, the cold room, the exertion of swimming, or the way his cheeks tended to be pleasantly flushed at the best of times anyway. It was a deep flush that stained his throat, too, leaving the rest of him offset and pale.

"Would you ask Finn that if he was the one looking at you?" Kurt asked, meaning to prove a point but just succeeding in getting a second wave of embarrassment. He scrubbed under his own arm with his bubbly loofah. His underarm was not near as attractive as Sam's somehow. It was so pale he could see a blue vein in it. Damn Sam Evans, anyway.

"Maybe," said Sam, then he took a deep breath and admitted, "but I guess not in the same way I meant it with you."

"...Really."

Clumsily, Sam grappled for the soap, a plain green bar that had been used by everyone in the shower before him.

"Sorry," he repeated, staring down.

"It's okay," said Kurt, partially because Sam had said so to him just a minute ago and partially because his interest was becoming piqued after an entire trip around the circle of blame. Sam sounded eternally honest, and Kurt couldn't even imagine Finn simply backing down and taking the blame and admitting anything like that, and Finn had overcome a lot of knee-jerk homophobia. Kurt had it in him to be honest, too. "I _was_ looking. More than was strictly necessary."

"Well... I don't mind, if you were," Sam said under his breath. "If you want to."

Kurt's face flushed. "You don't."

"No. I used to get money to flash these babies at middle-aged divorcées and bachelorette parties," said Sam, swiping at his abs with the soap. "I mean, I'm retired and everything, but I still kinda like knowing I'm good at something. Even if it's just being... looked at like I'm sexy or whatever."

"I see," said Kurt slowly, and gazed over at him with a heaviness born of permission.

He knew he shouldn't look so purposefully just because Sam had just said it was fine; checking guys out so blatantly was one thing when he and Blaine were gazing casually at them as a species, so close yet so far. It was one thing when he was really trying not to look at the guy showering next to him. But Kurt looked anyway, intently, taking in everything from the furrow of Sam's brow to the water that dripped off all his angular planes and rounded muscles to the shine the bar of soap was leaving behind on his stomach.

He looked further, this time, pressing his way down over Sam's hipbones, gaze lingering heavily for a long minute on his dick and feeling himself breathing harder.

Sam glanced at him, expression distant, but he snapped back to obvious attention when Kurt didn't back off. His posture rolled straight like he was doing a miniature, slowed-mo version of his now-notorious sideways body roll, his abs flexing as if for Kurt's benefit. Then he did the strangest, most unexpected thing and took his hand to his dick, propping it up in a loose grip of fingers for Kurt to see. Kurt inhaled, shocked, not knowing whether to feel embarrassed or aroused and landing somewhere in the middle. This was more – way, way more – than Sam not minding. This was Sam showing him everything. Showing himself off. Putting himself on display on purpose. It was a blatant invitation to look, to admire. To want, maybe.

As Kurt stared, where they were and what he was doing becoming distant and unimportant in his conscience, Sam's fingers wrapped in a loose circle and slid, soapy, in a quick but deliberate pull up the shaft, showing off how the skin moved like silk, all flushed and glistening wet. His dick seemed to pop out of his brief grip, half-hard by the time he let it go.

Blinking heavily and swallowing with some kind of barely choked back hunger, Kurt took it all in, the gentle flop and swing of Sam's fattening dick and the fawny curls all pressed wetly to his skin around it. It was every locker room fantasy he'd never really followed through with even in his own head come to life; it was hard to believe it was really happening in front of him, Sam letting him see. He unknowingly memorized everything about Sam right then, soaking it all in needily to keep forever like he had last year – he memorized Sam's sharp elbows and knees and ankles, his big hands with their long fingers, his upright posture and the way he was tilted slightly towards Kurt, opened up to him, watching him cautiously.

After meeting his intent eyes for a second, Kurt let his stare do another obvious, starving rake down Sam's body.

This time, he could hear Sam let out a wet-sounding breath that seemed to blow water off his mouth and nose, and it was so beyond satisfying to glance back up at his face and see how interested he was in Kurt looking at him that Kurt's mouth actually twitched.

"Oh, my," Kurt intoned, keeping his voice soft under the spray of their showers. "You can't be caught in here like that."

Sam pressed his lips together, exhaling harshly, hand swinging to knock gently at his hard-on. For a second Kurt thought he was going to sprout some modesty and cover himself, but no. Sam just nudged it, knowing Kurt was looking at it, and Sam's cock swayed under the wet-knuckled smack. Kurt couldn't help responding, chin lifting regally as he tried to put himself above what he could now tell was a purposeful bid for attention.

"Better take care of that before someone else sees," Kurt advised lowly.

He didn't know what Sam would think or do, but was rewarded with the sight of Sam's fingers wrapping around his shaft and giving it a deliberate but experimental pull.

Kurt's brain fritzed out. For a minute everything was just a mish-mash of the cheery yet still somehow institutional yellow of the tiles in the McKinley showers, the distant noise of lockers slamming and Blaine talking to whoever was still out there while he waited for his turn, and the intensely private thing he was somehow suddenly watching – Sam fondling and tugging himself into full red-tipped hardness right there beside him. He wasn't just witnessing it, like on accident or something. He was in on it, part of it, instrumental to the fact that Sam was playing with himself in the showers at all. In some way, he knew it was... for him.

He gasped shallowly, trying not to sound like he'd just come from running laps or something, and Sam's arm muscles clenched. Kurt stared at the way his thumb bridged the belly of his shaft and pressed at it insistently and the way his index and middle fingers were the tightest on him, gripping around the neck of his knob in short, increasingly desperate little tugs. His pinky hooked out almost delicately. Kurt had never exactly realized how intimate it was to see someone touching themselves until he'd finally gotten to see Blaine do that for a second on his way to allowing Kurt to do it for him. But this was how another boy – _Sam_ – touched himself, he realized, when he jerked off by himself, when he was making himself come. Even that put a million new fantasies and smatterings of mental pictures to draw from in his head.

"Sam," he managed in a heated whisper. "Do I get to see you come?"

The words were kind of clumsy in his mouth, since he hadn't said something like that out loud... ever, really. His experiences with seeing another boy come were limited.

Sam huffed, though, his eyes squeezing shut.

"You wanna see?" he asked in a hollow breath. Kurt could hear the tension in his throat, in his voice, tight and unlike his usual casual way of speaking.

"Yes," Kurt breathed guiltily.

Sam's body swayed a little, his muscles all rigid. White pearled up in a sudden rush at the head of his dick for a split-second, then it shot up into the air a few inches, some of it raining down onto Sam's grip with the rest of the shower water and sliding wetly off him and the rest – Kurt hazarded a glance and saw a perversely obvious streak of it on the sunny tile, sliding down it, heavy and disgusting, and he knew the rest of it was probably sliding down the drain between Sam's feet.

Shaking, Kurt reached out and turned the knob of his shower all the way to C. The douse of suddenly freezing cold water hit his skin like little shards of ice, chasing the warm bubbles still clinging to him right down his legs, but he barely felt it. Everything was secondary right then, including the fact that he was embarrassingly hard, himself.

Next to him, Sam breathed in hard, measured exhales, eyelashes fluttering as he glanced up randomly at the ceiling. His come was still milky in the webbing between his thumb and index finger. And it was definitely still dribbling down the wall. Kurt didn't know whether that was going to haunt him in a bad way (what was that about public showers and cleanliness?) or a really, really good way.

He shut his shower off when he couldn't take it anymore, the cold having nearly numbed him.

"I really have to blow-dry my hair," Kurt muttered into the nothingness between them.

He reached for his towel and pulled it around his waist tightly, trying to cover the fact that he was still minorly stiff with the layers of bright McKinley red. At least his towel had remained quite dry.

"Do we just pretend this never happened?" asked Sam abruptly. He seemed embarrassed – but it was more about his own obvious response than Kurt actually watching him, as far as Kurt could tell.

"If you want," Kurt said, struggling to sound light as he knotted his towel up. God, he hoped the others had more effective locker room manners than he and Sam apparently did. He bit down on the inside of his lip, then said, "But just so you know, I'm not going to forget it anytime soon. You might want to think about that before you go around my house shirtless or whatever."

A smile played on Sam's mouth.

"Because I will look," Kurt added playfully.

"What about... you know. Your boyfriend. In the other room."

Gathering his shower supplies up awkwardly, Kurt thought for a tummy-twisting second about Sebastian Smythe and their secret coffee dates and the way he'd shown up to applaud Blaine's first performance as Tony and the way he had no compunctions with creeping on Blaine right in front of Kurt, eating him alive with his squinty little eyes.

What was it darling, harmless Sebastian had said? Oh, yes.

"He doesn't need to know."

Feeling much more chipper than he had half an hour ago, Kurt headed back to his locker, aware he was leaving Sam looking after him with a curious light in his eyes.


End file.
